


The Way They’ve Always Been

by Nikki66



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikki66/pseuds/Nikki66
Summary: Roger’s having a rough time.Brian comforts him the way they always have.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 56





	The Way They’ve Always Been

**Author's Note:**

> My buddy, AO3 member AlMerriweatherJones, and I were talking about Roger and his drumming-induced pain. He’s said in interviews that it’s mostly in his back; though he’s also got arthritis in his fingers—most notably his ring fingers.  
> Of course, we wandered into discussion of pain/comfort in a Maylor UA.  
> This fic doesn’t entirely go THERE, but it tiptoes along the border. :-)

The connecting hotel suite was dark.

Which wouldn’t normally be unusual. Roger had been photosensitive since Brian first met him. He’d always preferred the lights low and his glasses dark.

But, it was past time they were getting ready for their flight, and none of the lights in the sitting area were on; nor did any shine under the door to the bedroom.

It was possible Roger had pulled a bird after the show, and overslept. They may not be the hounds they once were, but old habits die hard. And Sarina wasn’t with Rog on this leg of the tour, and-bless her- was sensible about life on the road. 

Brian made his way to the silent bedroom door. He gave a gentle tapping to the rhythm of shave-and-haircut; their decades old signal that it was time to oust the night’s company, and get a move-on.

A growl answered him. “Fuck off.”

“Rog, it’s moving time.”

“Bri?”

“Yeah. You alone?”

When there was no answer, Brian peeked inside. In the near darkness, he could just make out a figure under the blankets. A solitary figure.

“Rog, you alright? Where’s your PA?”

“Told him to fuck-the-fuck-off.”

“Ah.” He perched at the edge of the mattress. “Any particular reason?”

Roger was silent a moment, curled under the bedding, before he finally spoke.

“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”

A terrible sense of deja vu coursed over Brian. Another time, another performance, another brother, speaking those same words.

He swallowed thickly. “Rog....”

“It’s the pain, Bri. My back, my fingers. These head-to-head shows are killing me. I can barely move the second morning. And the meds turn me into a fucking zombie.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

Toeing off his shoes, Brian lifted the blankets and slid underneath, fitting himself against the curve of Roger’s back.

He felt Roger relax into him with a moan of relief.

“Better?”

“Fuck, yes. You’re like a human blast furnace. And your gut’s nearly as soft as Sarina’s tits.”

Brian chuckled, pulling him closer. “Sod off.”

He found Roger’s hands, cradling them with his own for what heat he could impart. They lay quietly together, as they’d done countless times before; comforting one another through physical and emotional pain. 

Tours were lonely. Surrounded by those thousands who loved you, but didn’t know you. Far from family, missing partners and kids, bodies bearing the brunt of a demanding schedule. 

In some ways, it was easier in the early years. Parties, booze, and easy lays took the edge off. But even then, they turned to each other for the comfort found in a brother’s arms. 

This was who they were, and had always been, since the beginning. For a beautiful while, there had been two other brothers to share with, in this way. Those times almost seemed a fantasy, now.

But, Brian and Roger still had each other. For more than fifty years, they’d had each other. Holding Roger was more instinctive to him than holding his wife, or any of his mistresses and groupies. 

Tucking his face into the warmth of his neck, Brian took a deep breath and sighed; Roger’s scent was as much a part of his aura as his own. 

When Roger finally spoke again, it was softly, with a vulnerability revealed only to family.

“I don’t WANT to quit, Bri.”

“I know.”

“I’m not abandoning you.”

“You know who you sounded like-“

“Christ! I’m sorry Bri. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“It’s alright if you want to retire, Rog. You’re seventy years old! You’ve earned it. We both have.”

“Blimey, I’m not ready to retire! I was thinking more along the lines of altering the tour schedules. No more back-to-back shows.”

Brian hummed appreciatively. “I’ve been thinking the same thing, to be honest. Head-to-head shows are more stressful than my moods can really take.”

“Yeah, you can get pretty bitchy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, the spirit’s willing...”

Chuckling, Brian pressed a kiss into the furry beard of Roger’s cheek.

“I wish you would just tell me when you’re hurting, Rog. I’ll share your bed during those nights. I’m just a text away. I’ll cuddle you up. Take care of you.”

“I’m not a bloody invalid.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“You ARE a bloody invalid.”

“From now on, unless there’s someone else in our beds, we’re sleeping together.”

“Really? The media will fucking LOVE hearing about that.”

“Do you really give a shit what people think, Rog?”

“Hell no, I don’t! It would be a perfect homage to Freddie. Not to mention our dear Adam. And my back will be so fucking grateful for your warm belly-bosom.”

“Jesus. Fine, it’s settled. No more double-headers, and we’re bedmates from now on. Why didn’t we do this decades ago?”

“Because decades ago I was healthy as a horse, and nailing groupies.”

“You have point.”

“Now, I’ll be stuck nailing you.”

“I’m cheap, Rog, not easy.”


End file.
